


Time Enough

by strippedhalo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-20
Updated: 2006-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1628231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strippedhalo/pseuds/strippedhalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon Snow/Theon Greyjoy.  Theon makes a pass.  Jon isn't interested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kenaz.
> 
> Warning: There is no non-con in this fic, but there is mention made of such, and also general creepiness, so please proceed with caution.

 

 

Jon stood alone in the yard for long moments after Tyrion Lannister had disappeared back into the Great Hall, listening to the night. Ghost had trotted away into the dark in search of something to hunt, or perhaps a tree to lift his leg against. Jon's good mood from earlier in the night had not returned in full, but the weight of embarassment and despair he'd felt on his exit from the feast had begun to lift, and he stood with his face raised to the stars, breathing deep and calm.

The temporary stillness lulled him into a trance-like state, so that he jumped when someone said his name from a few feet away, close enough that he should have heard the steps as they walked up behind him.

Whirling to face the newcomer, Jon was surprised to find that the speaker was Theon Greyjoy.

"Theon." Jon nodded in greeting, and looked around to see if Robb was nearby. The yard was empty except for Jon and Theon. "Where is Robb?"

The older boy rolled his eyes. "I didn't know your brother's presence was required for me to speak to you. You're old enough to have a conversation on your own, aren't you? Almost a man grown, isn't that what you said?" Theon's eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he stepped close, close. Jon stood his ground but could not entirely suppress the urge to lean away, just slightly. "And what do you know of the things men do?"

"What do you mean?"

Theon smiled. On another face, Jon would have thought the expression almost kind, but he had known Theon almost as long as he could remember, since Theon first came to Winterfell when they were children. Theon Greyjoy was not often kind, and never to the likes of Jon Snow.

"Have you ever lain with a woman, Jon?"

Jon felt his cheeks grow hot, and was thankful for the dark of the yard. "That is no concern of yours," he replied, attempting to imbue his tone with some of the icy chill his father could project.

"Perhaps not," Theon replied, "but I am interested, nonetheless."

"What do you want, Theon?" Jon ran a hand over his face, abruptly exhausted. The day's events had been too much, and he had no patience left for Theon's games. "I wish you would speak plainly for once."

"Then I shall make myself clear as day," was the reply. "I want you. I want you in my bed. Or in your bed, or any other bed that happens to be available. The stables will do in a pinch. I want to find my pleasure in your body, see your face when you come apart under my hands, my mouth. I want to discover what you know of lovemaking, and teach you things you never dreamed to learn. I want to know if you are as hot on the inside as your outside is cool."

Theon had moved forward as he spoke, and Jon had retreated so that he now found his back pressed against the armory wall, with Theon but a scant breath away. Near enough that Jon could feel the heat from the older boy's body, smell the wine on his breath, feel the puffs of air on his face as Theon spoke.

"Do you understand me now, Snow? Have I spoken plainly enough for your liking?"

Jon could not think of a single thing to say in response.

"There's no shame in it, you know," Theon soothed. "We ironmen have always known that. Men get lonely at sea, and mermaids are not often found. And if you ask any of the northmen - the real northmen, I mean, not the soft Southron imposters who've lived their whole lives at Winterfell - they'll tell you the same. Women are scarce in the frozen places, and a man must take warmth where it is offered."

"That may be so, but women are plentiful in Winterfell, Greyjoy," Jon said with a scoff, "and there are always fires burning in the hearths. I'm sure there's at least one girl in the keep who hasn't tired of you. One of the Queen's ladies, perhaps. Take your warmth where you will, but you'll not have it from me. I offer you nothing."

Theon's smile broadened. "But I am offering to you. All you need do is take." He put up a hand, forestalling Jon's angry retort. "Do you know there are no women on the Wall? You should think of that, if you are serious about taking the Black."

A sharp stab of indignation spiked through Jon. "What I talk about with my uncle is none of your business! What were you doing listening to our conversation?"

Theon smirked. "Our royal guests were boring, and you were loud. It is no fault of mine that your words reached my ears." He moved even closer, speaking in a conspiratorial tone of voice. "The Wall is not peopled with virgin boys, Jon. They are most of them men who've led full lives before taking the Black. They are accustomed to the pleasures of the flesh, and that is not a taste that goes away, whatever oaths a man might swear."

The implication horrified Jon. "They would never!"

"Would they not? I could be gentle, Jon. The men of the Night's Watch will not be, but I could show you what to do to make it pleasurable nonetheless. I promise that you would enjoy it." A small smile crept across Theon's lips and he leaned forward even more, mouth nearly brushing Jon's ear. "It would be... special."

Jon gaped. This smile was one that Jon recognized. He had seen it directed at more than one of the young women of the castle, and was usually followed by the girl disappearing with Theon for a length of time and later, a bawdy retelling of events to Robb, something that always make Jon's ears feel hot and his stomach feel funny if he was around to overhear. "I am no servant girl, foolish and honoured to be your salt wife, Greyjoy!" He shook with fury and humiliation. "Bastard I may be, but my father is still a lord, _your_ lord, and you would do well to remember that."

There was no trace of a smile left on Theon's face by the time Jon was done speaking, and colour had blossomed high on his cheekbones, visible even in the weak moonlight. "Yes, your father. Lord Eddard Stark, who gave you his face but not his name. Noble Eddard Stark, who lets his children call you brother and lets their mother spit in your face. You are nothing more than a favoured pet to him, a dog to be fed scraps under the table when it suits him, and banished to the kennels when it is inconvenient for you to be underfoot."

"Shut your mouth!" Rage propelled Jon forward and made him raise his voice. "Shut your mouth and leave me be or, or -"

"Or what? What will you do?" Theon tipped his head to one side, his voice more curious than threatening. "Will you run to your lord father and tell him? Or maybe to Robb? What do you think they would do?" 

"I don't need Robb to fight my battles for me!" A stray practice sword lay in the dirt nearby and Jon picked it up, brandishing the dull steel as though he held Ice itself. "Or my father. I can take care of myself."

Theon laughed. "Will you poke at me with your toy sword, then? I had a different sort of swordplay in mind, to tell the truth." He took a step closer, heedless of the threat Jon meant to imply by raising his weapon a little higher. "You don't have to make up your mind tonight. There is time enough before you are of age to take the Black. Think on what I've offered, and let me know when you are ready to accept."

He raised a hand and brushed his fingertips across Jon's cheekbone before gripping his chin to tilt Jon's head up, holding tight when Jon tried to jerk away. At that moment, Ghost trotted out from the shadows, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Theon backed away from Jon, wary of the young wolf in a way he had not been of the dulled practice blade. Ghost stopped at Jon's feet, but continued to growl, teeth bared and hackles raised.

Theon stood for a moment longer before nodding his head in acceptance of defeat, his usual smirk returning to his lips. Jon kept his sword raised as Theon turned to go, did not look away from the retreating figure.

"There is time enough, Jon," Theon called across the yard when he reached the door. "There is time enough."

 


End file.
